


The Ache Inside

by firecracker189



Series: Our Little Family [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression, Avengers Family, Domestic Avengers, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Nonsexual Ageplay, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, cute Steve, daddy!Bucky, everyone loves stevie bc he's such a cute bab, little!steve, sad natasha, still she figures highly in the story as well as from her pov, was going to be natasha centric but morphed into something a little different
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firecracker189/pseuds/firecracker189
Summary: Natasha can't help the ache inside of her. Luckily Bucky has a baby on his hands that's all to eager to help by being cute.Or: How the Avengers began their journey into forming a new family together through age regression.(Continued in part two: Easing The Ache)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clairell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clairell/gifts).



> This just came to me today. I was reading some of the cute stuff clairell wrote last night and this happened because it's been too long since I've written Lil Stevie. So, enjoy friend! (side note: this may have more chapters or related works if it goes over well! And if anyone wants to give prompts for little steve that'd be great)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end.

It was one of those days where every child in the general vicinity seemed to mock Natasha. Everywhere she went, she saw cooing infants and adorable toddlers all chattering away to their mothers. It made her ache inside, thinking of what they’d done to her, of the fact that she’d never bear a child of her own. Trudging up the steps to one of her safe houses, she took off her backpack and took out an empty bowl, pouring a little food inside and watching as Liho came scampering from beneath the sofa. Kneeling down, she took solace in the deep purring from her kitten, stroking soft black fur while she ate. “I have missed you, moy kotenok,” she said fondly, as she pulled a new collar from her bag. “I got you something.” Natasha explained, as she clicked the patterned material around the animal’s neck. “So that everyone will know who you belong to.” She wasn’t territorial about much, but Liho made the list. It was a short one, and to the point, just like she was: Liho, Clint, Coulson, Steve, Bucky, and the rest of her team. She may not have had much in the way of material things, (though she had accrued enough wealth over the years that she could have lived comfortably—she just preferred to keep moving between hidey holes to keep peace of mind) but she was rich in people. Natasha smiled at the collar bearing her symbol sticking out brightly against the deep rich tones of Liho’s softness. “There will be no doubt that you are mine,” she repeated softly, as the feline mewed quietly and sat back delicately to stare up at her owner with large yellow eyes. Natasha put the bowl back into her backpack and retrieved a pet carrier from the closet. “Come, kotenok, let us go back to the tower, hmm? You and I deserve to spend some time together taking advantage of Tony’s comforts.” Liho mewed and sniffed at the crate dubiously before she decided to enter the plush interior, curling up and purring happily as Natasha closed the door.

Once she had suitably unpacked her belongings back at the floor she shared with Clint, Natasha let Liho out once more, smiling as she immediately went to curl up beside the fireplace. After taking a luxuriously long bath, Natasha twirled dampened hair up on top of her head gracefully, sliding one of Clint’s hoodies on over a pair of comfortable fleece lined leggings and added a pair of socks for good measure. “JARVIS?” She asked, as she turned out the lights in the closet. “Where is everyone?”

 _Agent Barton is out on a field mission with Agent Coulson supervising, Sir and Doctor Banner are at the botanical gardens, Thor has returned home for the moment, and Captain Rogers is on his and Sergeant Barnes’ floor with Sergeant Barnes._ The AI informed in his usual lilting tone.

“Spasibo,” she murmured quietly, chewing the inside of her lip. If Steve was attempting to have some time alone with James, she didn’t want to interrupt. However, sometimes being alone hurt more than interrupting someone who would gladly accept your company.

 _Pozhaluysta._ JARVIS returned, matching her language for language. That was one thing Natasha appreciated about JARVIS—the AI could match her no matter what language she woke up speaking that day.

Weighing her options further, she simply decided to chance going down a floor, padding into the elevator and tapping her fingers against one of her thighs nervously. Exiting the elevator, she walked the few steps in front of her and knocked at the door lightly. It took a moment, but eventually James came to the door, wearing a baggy tee shirt and his hair up in a bun.

“Natalia,” he sounded surprised.

“I’m sorry to bother,” she began. “But, I came back early and no-one else was home.”

“Uh,” he looked over his shoulder nervously, back towards the apartment. “No, um… it’s fine, uh. Can you hang on a second?”

Natasha barely had time to nod before he shut the door in her face. She shifted and frowned. Something was up, but she couldn’t place what. Waiting for several more moments, she nibbled at the inside of her cheek. Just as she was beginning to think she should turn around and leave once more, James appeared again and opened the door, tucking a stray lock behind his ear.

“Come in,” he gave an easy smile and gestured her inside. “Sorry about the delay.”

“It’s alright,” she responded, still uncertain as she entered their living area. However, the sight that met her eyes caused her to do a double take. There were various children’s toys scattered around the carpet, and the television was playing a Disney movie of some sort. But what caught her eye the most was Steve. He was… dressed like an infant?

James sank gracefully to the floor and Steve immediately went to his lap, hiding his face against James’ neck. “What—“ Natasha began.

“Steve age regresses,” James explained, as if it were the simplest and most common thing in the world. Natasha perched on the arm of the sofa and gave him a perplexed look. “It’s a coping mechanism, and he’s always done it. When he’s stressed or under a lot of pressure, his mind reverts to a childlike state to help him cope. When he’s ready to be an adult again, he’ll return to his normal state. But when he’s like this he’s usually a few months to a year old,” he rubbed Steve’s back.

“How long?” Natasha asked, watching Steve curiously.

“Since before the war,” James replied, and Natasha blinked. “I’ve been Stevie’s Daddy for a long time,” a wistful smile crossed his features. “It just took me a little while to remember, after everything that happened to separate us.” Steve whined softly and James cooed to him, rocking side to side. “It’s alright, baby. Daddy won’t leave you. Not ever again. _Ever._ ” The last word held so much venom that Natasha was sure that anyone that ever tried to take Steve away from James would be dead before they knew what happened. She shifted a little and felt that ache returning as she watched him see to Steve, tenderly stroking his cheek as he retrieved a pacifier from his pocket and offered it to the young one.

“Do you…” she started, blushing.

James looked up and crooked a brow in question. “D’you wanna come say hi?” he asked softly, a knowing look crossing his face as he studied her. He always did read her like a book.

She nodded and slipped lithely from her spot, sinking before them and crossing her legs, imitating James’s form.

“Stevie,” James sang softly. “Natasha wants to say hi to you, honey. Can you come outta there and say hi?”

His voice was remarkably warm, eyes full of adoration and softness as he looked down at the one sitting on his lap. Natasha shifted and put on her most soothing voice. “It’s alright, milyy mal'chik,” her voice was honey-smooth, a soft smile playing at her lips as she bent forward slightly. “I won’t hurt you. I only want to say hello.”

Steve appeared to consider it for a moment, before slowly peeling himself away from Bucky’s shoulder and giving Natasha a clumsy but shy wave. He sucked at his pacifier nervously as he stared across at her, but his Daddy’s strong form behind him kept him calm enough.

Natasha’s heart melted at the sight. “Hello, little one,” she cooed, absolutely enthralled. She could sense a smug smile on James’s face, but she was too preoccupied with the little one to care.

Stevie gave another shy smile around his paci and reached out towards her. James cooed softly. “You wanna go and see Tasha, honey bear?”

Natasha looked slightly awed at the action, but held out her arms readily. “Come here.” Steve crawled into her lap and she ran a hand through her hair as he settled against her. “Aren’t you a sweet one?” She crooned, and Steve hummed quietly around his paci.

Maybe, if she could do this more often, that ache wouldn’t be there anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kotenok-- Kitten  
> Moy kotenok-- My Kitten  
> Spasibo-- Thank you  
> Pozhaluysta-- You're welcome  
> Milyy mal'chik-- Cute boy


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is alone while Bucky and Clint go on a mission. Luckily, he has Natasha there to help him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, it's been AGES since I've written anything Avengers related, and even longer since I've posted to a fanfic site. But it's like medicine to me to write some good old fashioned Clintasha, like seriously I'm so happy with it. Plus a good dash of incorrigible Stucky for good measure :) Anyways, here's some uncertain Nat taking care of the baby.  
> Enjoy!  
> Translations at the end!

Steve sighed and zipped Bucky’s tact bag. “For the millionth time, Buck, I’ll be fine,” he complained, turning around and lifting the bag from the bed, holding it out. It’d been about a month since Natasha had found out about his Little side, and Bucky was worrying about whether or not Steve would drop into headspace when no-one was around to care for him.

Bucky’s lips pursed, and he took the bag, dropping it beside his feet. “If you’re sure. At least gimme another kiss before I go.”

An impish smile crossed Steve’s face. “That I can do.” He covered the space between them before lacing his hands behind Bucky’s neck and kissing him long and hard. By the time he broke the kiss, Bucky’s hands were on his waist and the two of them were red and panting.

“You little tease,” Bucky accused as he stepped back and bent to pick up his bag once more.

Steve gave a flirty smile. “Well, you’re gonna be gone for a whole week. I gotta get my fix,” he teased, and let his hands slide down Bucky’s chest.

“That’s enough of that,” Bucky took Steve’s wrist in his hand, metal gleaming in the early morning sun as it slanted through the window. He brought the hand to his lips and kissed it seductively. “You c’n wait your turn till I get back,” he winked, and Steve felt his knees go slightly weak.

A soft knock at the doorframe signaled the arrival of Natasha, and she rolled her eyes fondly at the exchange. “I came to say goodbye, and drop this off,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Clint, who was standing just behind her holding his own bag and dressed in his black mission fatigues similar to Bucky. His quiver was slung between his shoulders and his bow tucked between his bag straps.

“Hey,” he protested. “I’m not a ‘this!’ this ‘this’ protests that label! This ‘this’ is a ‘he,’ thank you very much!”

Natasha turned and ran her hands up his arms, stretching to kiss him passionately. Now it was Clint’s turn to drop his bag with a thump, hands going to her hips as she jumped, catching her in a perfectly choreographed move. He let her wrap her calves around his waist as he kissed her, humming softly. “Take it back, call me whatever you want, I’m utterly and completely yours,” he panted against her lips, as she pulled her mouth away to give him a sweet smile, stroking his cheek.

Steve and Bucky watched the scene in amusement, elbowing each other and catcalling until Natasha turned to glare at them, Clint smirking in the background. “Careful. She might gut you in your sleep,” he warned, letting her down and taking up his bag again. He extended a hand to Steve, who took it and shook it heartily with a smile.

“Stay safe, Clint.”

“Can do, Cap. I’ll call if I need anything.”

Natasha placed a hand against Bucky’s cheek, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. “Stay safe, or I’ll kill you.” She warned, and he kissed her cheek.

“Don’t worry, Ma,” he teased, eyes sparkling. “I’ll be home by twelve, Scout’s honor!”

Natasha rolled her eyes and turned back to her lover, partner, and friend. “Please be careful, moy yastreb,” she whispered, and kissed him again, stroking his cheek.

Clint reached up and caught her hand with his free one, bringing it to his lips. “Have I ever given you cause to worry?” he asked cockily, voice still soft and intimate. Steve and Bucky looked away to give them privacy in the cramped space. Natasha’s brows arched, and he laughed softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Fine, like you were in Budapest?” she mumbled under her breath, straightening one of his hearing aids.

Laughing to himself, he twined his free arm around her waist and pulled her close. “What would I do without you?” he asked her, recalling countless moments when the presence of his strike team partner had saved his life. “Also, I’d like to point out that I had that under control until you showed up.”

Natasha made a little noise of dissent, too busy breathing in the familiar scent and the strength he radiated to vocalize her reply. She wanted to live in moments like this forever, but all too soon he was speaking up again.

“Ya lyublyu tebya, malen'kiy pauk.” Clint kissed her hair, inhaling the slight cinnamon musk that clung to the silken strands as he pulled away, scrutinizing her face and trying to remember what home looked like. He clung for a moment longer, before straightening up and pulling away. “Welp, let’s get this show on the road, Barnes,” Bucky nodded, and gave Steve one last kiss on his cheek.

“See ya in a week!” he called as he followed Clint out the door, leaving two worried partners staring after them as the door clicked shut.

Natasha shifted nervously, looking over to Steve, laying a hand against his arm. “Would you like to come to yoga with Bruce and I?” she asked, knowing he’d want to forget Bucky was out in harms way. “It’s a great way to clear your mind and center your body.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks. I’d love to. Lemme change real fast and I’ll meet you two down in the studio.”

Kissing his cheek, Natasha padded off to her own floor.

Stripping down quickly—being alone stung and chafed like shoes that fit wrong after having Bucky there for so long—he was distracted by a soft sound atop the wardrobe in the corner. Looking up, he smiled softly. Liho was watching him, tail twitching as she purred quietly.

“Hey there,” he said fondly, tugging on a pair of sweats. “Are you stuck up there, kitty cat?” he approached and reached his arms out. “Or are you just spying for your momma?” Liho chirped contentedly and lithely launched into his arms, headbutting at his chin. “Hey, pretty girl,” he cooed, scratching her head and cuddling with her. “Here, you can have this nice nest to hang out in.” Depositing the cat into his mound of blankets on the bed, he shrugged into a clean tee and headed out to the hall barefoot. “Be back later.” He called to the cat, who kneaded happily at the blankets.

A few moments saw the small group in the half of the gym that had been partitioned off into a yoga studio, dark curtains hanging over the windows and candles and incense scattered around the front, where the mirrors were propped to self monitor poses. Bruce sat on his mat in the front, and Natasha had set an empty one out for Steve beside her. He sank down and began to breathe deeply, setting his mind for the practice.

An hour later, they unfolded themselves carefully for a late breakfast, Bruce volunteering to start some omelets for everyone. After a quick breakfast, Steve left the common floor to go shower off.

He woke sometime in the wee hours of the morning—he must’ve fallen asleep after his shower. He’d only intended to sleep for a moment, but… the crash of thunder jolted from outside and he cringed, letting out a little gasp and curling in on himself. A pair of large eyes appeared in the darkness, and a questioning trill sounded as something warm brushed his arm. Liho. Thank God she’d stayed in his room. He could feel himself slipping, and _Bucky wasn’t there._

Shaking, he reached out and tucked the cat to his chest, focusing on the purring she emitted at being next to his warmth. _Not there. Not there. NOT THERE!_ The thoughts assaulted his mind, reminding him he was alone--heart racing as lightning forked outside the window. Steve bit his lip to keep from crying. Absently, he petted Liho’s soft fur as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to regulate his breathing the way his therapist taught him to when he was scared. How pathetic. Bucky had barely been gone a few hours and he couldn’t hold himself together without someone there to pander to him, to baby him. He was disgusting. What kind of man, much less a war hero/Avenger/super soldier, behaved this way?

Liho chirped quietly again, as if to bring him from his thoughts, and began to lick at his hair, turning in his arms to groom the upset human. He let out a soft moan and shook once more as another clap of thunder sounded. He may have been Captain America, but at the moment he simply couldn’t handle things. Steve’s chin quivered, and he burst into tears, startling the cat in his arms into scampering out of the room. That only made Steve cry harder. Now he was really alone.

Natasha was sitting beside the fireplace, curled up in a large armchair reading, sound of the rain soothing her except for the occasional clap of thunder. She looked up curiously as JARVIS paged her. “Yes? What’s the matter? Did Tony singe his eyebrows off again?”

JARVIS made an amused chirp. _No, Agent Romanoff, I’m afraid Sir is all in one piece… for the moment. However, your presence is needed in Captain Rogers’ room. There is… a situation._

She set her book aside as Liho came scampering into the room, tail held high and immediately hunkered under the sofa. “Did the thunder scare you, kotenok?” she asked, and stood up, stretching through her body. “Alright, JARVIS. Tell him I’m on the way.” She pronounced, brow furrowed as she headed through the room, slipping a robe on over her pajamas as she went. Hurrying, in case something was wrong, she took the staircase to get there faster.

Pushing open the door, she hurried into the bedroom, only to see Steve curled up miserably in the middle of the bed, tears streaming down his face and looking very upset. She cooed softly and reached over to turn on the light, shutting the curtains firmly. “Did the storm upset you, dragotsennyy?” she asked softly, approaching him as if he were a spooked animal.

Steve wailed and reached out, nodding pathetically. He’d fallen into headspace, and fast.

Natasha hummed and perched herself on the mattress, reaching out to tug him onto her lap. “It’s alright, little one,” she whispered, tucking his head to her neck. “The storm won’t hurt you.” Natasha held him for a moment, rocking from side to side and petting his hair to soothe him. “Do you want to change into something more comfortable, Stivi?” her accent was thick, and even though the little one in her arms was clearly terrified, Natasha couldn’t help but feel her heart fill with warmth that he had thought of her in his fear. “Hmm?” she crooned, laying a cheek against his hair. “Perhaps we should put you into some pajamas?” he whimpered and nodded against her neck, clutching at her robe. “Hold tight,” she directed, and he twined his arms around her neck.

Thankful for her own super strength, (she was loath to put him down when he was so upset) Natasha carried him to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Nothing there. Moving to the second, she frowned. Still nothing. The third drawer was more favorable. Its contents consisted of several soft onesies like the one she had first met Stevie in, as well as a few footed sleepers for colder weather. “Hmm. How about bunnies?” she asked, but Steve seemed too preoccupied with being afraid to care much. “Bunny rabbits it is,” she seemed slightly amused and shut the door, tossing the garment onto the bed. “Stivi,” Natasha asked lightly. “Where are your diapers, malen'kiy? I don’t see them in this drawer.” He whined and hiccupped, pointing to the closet. Natasha carried him over and bent down, assuming the brightly colored bag to the side of the boxes belonged to him. Tugging out a diaper and the powder, she put the bag over her shoulder and took Steve back over to the bed, laying him on his back.

Rummaging back through the bag and finding a soft blue blanket, Natasha hummed in triumph. “Would you like this, milaya? It would make you feel better,” she coaxed. Steve eagerly took the soft item and cuddled it to his neck. “Aha,” Natasha murmured, as her hand met a smooth plastic item. “This will help, too.” She held out the pacifier, and Steve opened his mouth, immediately latching onto the comfort item. Making swift work, she took his pants off, leaving his socks on and tapping at an arm with a soft and sympathetic smile as he jumped and whimpered at another crack of thunder. “Arms up,” she murmured, as another few tears leaked down his cheeks. Shortly, she had him all bundled into fresh clothes, nibbling her lips nervously—she’d never changed a diaper before, she sincerely hoped she did it correctly or James would have her hide.

That done, she unmade his bed and patted the mattress. “Come on, little one. Would cuddles make you feel better?” She took off her robe and tossed it aside, curling up at the headboard as he crawled up towards her, looking absolutely adorable in his bunny onesie. “It’s alright,” Natasha murmured, hugging him to her chest and rubbing his back as she nuzzled at his soft hair. “Nothing is going to hurt you while I’m around.” As if to underscore the point, Liho appeared once more, seemingly over her fears, and jumped up beside them, purring as she curled up and tucked her tail around her legs. “Everything is alright,” Natasha repeated softly. Now she just had to get through however long Steve stayed Little. She bit her lip. It could end up being a long few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moy yastreb-- My hawk  
> Ya lyublyu tebya, malen'kiy pauk.-- I love you, little spider.  
> Kotenok-- Kitten  
> Dragotsennyy-- Precious  
> Malen'kiy-- Little one  
> Milaya-- Sweetie


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Clint miss their significant others. Nat and Steve have dinner, which turns into game night with Tony and Bruce, which turns... interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations at the end!

Natasha scratched behind Liho’s ears fondly, one hand stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese while Liho sat on the countertops and supervised. “Do you think I have added enough cheese, moy malen'kiy kotenok?” Liho mewed softly and licked delicately at one of her forepaws. Natasha chuckled, a warm sound full of richness as she picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. “I will take that as a ‘yes,’” she said, and put the spoon down in the rest before scooping up the animal and peeking around the doorframe. So far, Steve was well occupied, ensconced in a burrito of blankets on the sofa and watching a nature documentary about penguins. He’d been in and out of headspace all day, but he was mostly big for the moment. She set Liho down and gave her one last pat before turning back to the stove and taking the pot off. Scooping out two portions, she poured Steve a glass of water and called out softly.

“Steve, lunch is ready!”

He sat up slowly and paused the movie, humming quietly. “Coming.”

When he finally entered the kitchen, she gestured to the table, where the two bowls sat ready. “Macaroni?” he questioned, and she smiled softly.

“I thought we could both use something warm and comforting.”

He nodded softly and sat down across from her, watching as she folded herself delicately into a cross legged position in the chair. “Um. Listen, I know this must be weird for you, but…” he shifted uncomfortably. “I just wanted to say… thanks. I realize you aren’t obligated to do anything, but you did anyway and just…. Thanks.” He blushed as he picked up his fork and began to eat.

Natasha’s expression softened and she sat down her glass before licking her lips and replying. “Steve, you don’t have to be ashamed of yourself. I realize, I’m not the most experienced at looking after children, but… I want to help. So,” she sighed softly and placed a hand over his, squeezing it gently. “You are welcome. Now let’s hurry up and eat, because I want to find out what happens to that baby penguin.”

He made a face. “I know! I hope it doesn’t get stranded alone forever,” he began eating in silence, and soon the two of them were back in the living room, seated side by side on the sofa. Liho’s tail brushed the back of Natasha’s neck every now and then as she twitched it from side to side, laying lengthwise along the back of the sofa and purring quietly.

 

Clint’s phone chirped quietly, and he reached to the side of his coffee cup and picked it up, opening the attachment and smiling softly. “Hey, look,” he showed the picture to Bucky, who grinned wistfully. “I guess they’re having fun without us.”

Bucky hummed. “God, I miss them.” _I bet Stevie’s having a hard time without me._

“Well, at least we get to go back home soon,” Clint responded, and waved him over. “C’mon. We gotta send them one back to let ‘em know we’re safe.” The two leaned in and grinned goofily, Bucky giving a thumbs up with his gloved hand. Clint nodded approvingly and sent it back to Natasha with a little heart emoji. “There. _God,_ I want to get this over with.”

Bucky nodded and cleared this throat. “Straight ahead, two o’clock. Target sighted.”

Clint straightened and put his phone away, cracking his knuckles softly. “Right. Let’s do this.”

 

Natasha poked Steve in the side, showing him the picture and watching as he visibly became less tense. “Glad they’re okay,” he murmured, nibbling at his thumb nervously.

She smiled and put the device over on the coffee table. “So am I. Now, how about we do something else to occupy ourselves? Passive television watching will not keep us from thinking about them.” She sat up straighter and flipped the blanket off her legs. “I was thinking maybe we play a game, like Scrabble. But,” Natasha held up a finger. “Other languages count, and any time you get a double score in another language than English, it counts five more points.”

He smiled. “I’ll take that action. Say, winner gets ten bucks?”

She gave a devious grin. “Agreed.” Steve wouldn’t last. Those ten bucks were hers.

“I’ll admit, I’m not exactly sure how this turned into a game of strip Scrabble, but,” Steve shrugged and looked down at himself. “Seeing as I’m in boxers and just that, I think I might be losing.”

Natasha laughed throatily and nodded. “I think you are. Though, it is close,” she countered, pointing to herself. She was wearing her bra and yoga pants, though she’d lost her shirt and socks.

“How… is that close?” he spluttered. “You still have pants on!”

“Knock, Kno—“ Tony stopped short as he strolled into the room, brows raising. “Well, well. Romanoff and Rogers getting frisky. But then, while the hawk’s away, the spider has to play.”

Steve scowled and crossed his arms, while Natasha just stared smugly and raised her chin a little. “We’re playing Scrabble. You want in or not?”

“I didn’t think Scrabble was played that way, but…” he eyed Natasha’s chest once more and shrugged with a mock painful expression on his face. “If you insist on twisting my arm, I accept. What’re the stakes?”

“Other languages count, double words in other languages count five points more, and winner gets ten bucks. Any time someone plays a word that’s longer than your previous word and happens to be in Spanish, Russian, or French, you lose an article of clothing of their choice.”

Tony sank to the floor and stroked his goatee, wiggling his brows. “Interesting. Take it the captain isn’t doing so well on that front.” He looked over to Steve, who scowled.

“Can’t help it. She actually knows like five more languages than me.”

Tony shrugged. “Well, such is life, Cap. Now gimme some letters. I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Thirty minutes later, Bruce wandered in, stopping just shy of the doorway and taking in the various half naked states of his teammates. “Um, did I miss something?”

Tony looked up. “Just playing a little Scrabble, you want in?” he asked, as if it were perfectly normal to involve getting naked with playing Scrabble.

“Uhm,” he ventured closer, rubbing his neck nervously. “And, just to get this straight, you guys are all doing this _sober_?” Bruce waved his hand to clarify.

“Two contestants have been augmented with super-soldier serum. Not fair in a drinking game,” Tony pointed out.

“Are you in, or not?” Steve asked impatiently. He was narrowly close to being asked to strip again, given the positioning of his last word, and he wanted to deflect for the time being so he didn’t lose his last clothing item.

“Uh, sure? I… guess,” Bruce mumbled, as Natasha scooted over to make room. Unlike Tony, Bruce’s gaze steadfastly refused to go below her neck as she leaned over and scooped him a handful of tiles while Steve rattled off the rules.

“Your turn,” Natasha purred to Bruce, watching him orient himself and take stock of his letters.

“Hope I’ve got at least one vowel,” Bruce muttered as he scanned the board. When he was done, it was Tony’s turn to lose his shirt, Bruce smirking triumphantly.

“How’d you even come off with that?” Tony complained, scrutinizing the rest of the board.

Bruce smiled. “I can’t give away my secrets.”

“Not a secret if it’s a language spoken by lots of people,” Steve teased, laying down his tiles and eye Natasha meaningfully. She sighed and stood up, sliding out of her yoga pants as Tony clapped and Bruce looked the other way.

Steve smirked to himself. “Take that, Romanoff.” He dodged her playful smack and watched as she lay down her tiles and shook her head.

Over the course of the night, things dwindled into a pile of half naked Avengers in a blanket nest on the floor watching Die Hard because Steve hadn’t gotten around to it and Tony thought it was a crime against humanity.

Steve smiled as Bruce and Tony heckled the characters on screen and threw their popcorn, a lazy smile appearing on his face. This is what he imagined having siblings would be like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moy malen'kiy kotenok-- My little kitten


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Clint and Bucky, things go a bit pear shaped on their mission. Phil and Natasha spend time with Little!Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for me to update this! Inspiration for any of my fics has really been stifled by thie sholw net neutrality bs. But I'm here and i'm posting. Enjoy the drama I have cooked up for you, my darlings!  
> Translations at the end!

Steve woke in the morning to a feeling of warmth and contentment, a pair of comforting arms around him. Yawning, he snuggled closer and enjoyed the feeling of layers of comforters and cozy blankets atop the bodies on either side of him. A hand came up to play with his hair softly and Steve let out a sleepy hum, chewing lightly on fingers he hadn’t realized were in his mouth.

“Stivi,” a barely there voice chided fondly, as another hand pulled the fingers from his mouth. Natasha. He whined softly and curled closer, rubbing his face against her shoulder. A warm hand rubbed his back and he stilled, appeased. “Go back to sleep, milaya,” Natasha murmured. “It is still early, and everyone else is asleep.”

Steve hummed again, feeling another warm body press against his back. He looked blearily up at Natasha, who smiled softly.

“It’s only Tony. Now back to sleep. Too early to get up yet.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

When next he woke, there was a warm scent wafting from the kitchen, and soft voices discussing something with one another. The sounds of nearby snoring could still be heard as Steve wiggled himself upright. To his left, Tony still slept soundly, cuddling a couch cushion. Natasha and Bruce were nowhere to be found, so Steve got up and shuffled into the kitchen, still feeling Little.

Bruce was standing at the stovetop, stirring something in a pan that smelled good and made hot sizzling sounds. His back was to the door, so he didn’t see as Steve made a beeline for Natasha and wrapped his arms around her, burying his head in her neck.

Amused, Natasha reached and set her coffee mug on the bar, hugging him back. “Good morning,” her voice was husky with sleep. “Did you sleep well, Steve?” she was uncertain whether he would want the others to know about his Little side, so until she got an indication, she sidestepped any nicknames.

He grunted quietly, feeling shy as he pulled away from Natasha.

“Bruce is making breakfast scramble. Would you like some?” Nat asked, smiling encouragingly as she brushed a piece of hair from Steve’s face. After a moment of adorable indecision, he nodded and she pointed to the bar. “Go and sit down. I’ll get you some juice.”

Bruce scooted forward so that Natasha could slide behind him and over to the fridge, craning his head over to look at Steve. “Morning, Steve.” He greeted with a tired but happy smile. He enjoyed being included in things, being… wanted… for stuff. A lot of the time Bruce felt isolated even within his own team. Phil said a lot of it was in his head, but… he couldn’t help but feel like sometimes the others didn’t ask him to do things, because they wanted to be free of the possibility of the Big Guy showing up to smash everything to bits. He shook his head slightly to clear away the bad thoughts, using the spatula to scrape the cooked hashbrowns and eggs from the skillet onto a plate. “Would you like cheese on yours?”

Steve rubbed his eyes and yawned again, murmuring a quiet thanks as Natasha set a glass of orange juice before him. “M-mornin’,” his tone was timid as he responded to Bruce. “Um…” conflicted, he looked pleadingly to Natasha, who spoke up.

“Why don’t you make Steve’s the same way you did mine? I think he’s feeling a little bit too tired to make any decisions right now.”

“Breakfast scramble with the works, coming right up.” Bruce responded, adding cooked peppers and onions, pieces of fresh bacon, and some salsa to Steve’s plate before putting a sprinkle of cheddar on top. “Here you go, Steve.” Bruce handed it off to Natasha and started on another batch. He’d need to make plenty more for himself before Tony woke up and came to breakfast. His metabolism dictated he eat as much as Steve, if not more, which was why he’d put a generous portion on the warming tray before beginning to cook another batch. That way three super-appetites could be appeased before he began to cook normal portions for Tony.

Natasha leaned against the countertop comfortably, warm mug in hand as she watched Steve begin to eat his breakfast. “S’good,” he spoke up, mouth full of potatoes. She gave him a soft look of reprimand for talking with his mouth full, and he grinned at her before going back to clumsily feeding himself bites of scramble.

Bruce chuckled. “Thanks. This is pretty simple, really. Just a variant on your standard ‘whatever’s in the fridge goes in the pan’, but I’m glad you like it. I can have JARVIS save the recipe, if you want. That way you can try it out on your own, and he can help you figure out how much you or Bucky would need to eat in one sitting to maintain your base caloric intake.”

JARVIS chimed softly. _I have added this variant on breakfast casserole to Captain Roger’s file. I have also been monitoring your technique, Doctor Banner. That way it will be easier on Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes if they have a bad memory day and cannot easily master the motions needed to scramble the eggs._

“That’s very thoughtful of you, JARVIS, thanks a lot.” Bruce spoke up, surprised as always by the AI’s thought processes. He was a lot like Tony in some ways, even if he was just a big ball of coding. But he meant so much more than that to their little team. Without JARVIS, they’d all fall apart by hour one. Nobody would have their shower the right temperature, or their bagels restocked, noone would remember to set restrictions on Steve and Bucky’s Netflix so it didn’t show them anything with excessive violence or anything triggering. JARVIS was their backbone.

 _You’re welcome, Doctor Banner._ JARVIS chimed again. _Agent Coulson is back from his mission. He is in the elevator now._

“Thanks, J,” a sleepy Tony leaned against the doorframe, hair rumpled and AD/DC shirt wrinkled. “Coffee?”

Natasha laughed quietly and walked over to him, pressing her mug into his hands. “Have mine. I do not think I trust you to walk all the way over there and pour hot liquid without scalding yourself.”

“Wise, probably.” Tony muttered, rubbing at his eyes with one hand as he sipped at the strong black brew. “What’s for eating, there, Bruce old pal? Smells absolutely _divine._ ” He stressed, shuffling over to the stove and peering over Bruce’s shoulder.

“Breakfast scramble,” Bruce responded, pointing with the spatula. “There’s pre-cooked on the warmer for those with heavier appetites. This is just a fresh batch in case you want your eggs freshly cooked.”

Tony took another sip of coffee and pressed a hand to his stomach as it growled loudly, sending Steve to stifle a few giggles into the napkin Natasha handed him. “I think I’ll have to pass on the cook time, if the whale living in my stomach is anything to go by.” He picked up a plate and began to scoop it full of casserole, turning as footsteps sounded in the hallway. “Uh oh. Hide the booze kids, Dad’s home.” Tony gave a self-satisfied grin as he rounded the bar and sat down beside Steve.

Phil dropped his bag just outside the kitchen and made a move for the coffee pot, sniffing appreciatively. “Bruce, whatever you’re cooking, I’ll have about three helpings, because the only food I’ve eaten in the past week is field rations.” He shuddered at the memory of the awful dehydrated packets SHIELD sent their more remote missions out with, adding a generous helping of cream and sugar to his coffee. “That’s the stuff,” Phil made a sound just on the appropriate side of obscene as he enjoyed the flavors of Tony’s imported coffee.

“It is good to see you back,” Natasha spoke up, reaching across to squeeze Phil’s arm and give him a soft smile. “I am glad you made it back in one piece.”

“So am I,” Phil heaved a sigh and leveled her with a bleak stare as Bruce nudged a plate of food into his hand and cocked his head towards the remaining stool.

“Sit,” Bruce ordered. “Eat. You look dead on your feet, Phil. After this I want to see you shower and sleep for a few hours. Doctor’s orders.” Bruce wasn’t afraid to give orders to their leader every once in a while, especially when it gave him the opportunity to put on his medic hat and override every complaint or protestation said leader might have.

Being as he was bone tired, Phil didn’t put up much of a fight, drifting over and heavily parking himself beside Tony. In a matter of seconds, he’d cleaned his plate with military efficiency, reaching across the bar to help himself to seconds.

“Steve?” Bruce’s voice broke through the sounds of forks clinking against plates. “Are you alright? You only ate one helping of your scramble.”

Natasha stepped in, laying a hand on Steve’s arm gently. “Steve had nightmares last night. He did not sleep well,” she lied. “I think he just needs to lie down for a while longer, in his own room.”

Bruce’s brows knitted. Clearly he could tell Natasha was sidestepping an issue, but so many of them had appetite issues related to bad dreams that he didn’t push the matter. “Alright, well… go lie down for a little while longer and then you can have something else to eat. But I don’t want you not eating anything else, you’ve got too much of an intake to account for. And I want JARVIS to make sure you drink some water when you get back up. It’ll make you feel better.”

Steve slid wordlessly from the stool, shuffling himself across the hall and into the elevator, not even waiting to see if Natasha was with him—he knew she would be. As soon as the door closed, he felt his knees give way, sliding down till he was sitting on the floor.

Natasha followed, putting her arms around him. “I know. I know you’re sleepy, and it was scary interacting with everyone like that when you’d never done that before, but you did really well,” she rubbed his shoulder, hoping that she was actually helping him instead of somehow hurting him. James would absolutely have her head if she didn’t do this right. It was just… this was her first real time taking care of a child, or at least the nearest thing she could get to a child. She had always dreamed of what the Red Room had taken from her, and… she didn’t want to screw it up now that she had been entrusted with Stivi. However, Steve’s responses encouraged her. He leaned into her touch and seemed to relax once he knew that the elevator was taking them away from everyone else.

She was able to get him to stand back up and get him into the bedroom before he collapsed completely, hurrying to get him bundled beneath the blankets. Once Natasha had gotten him into bed, she produced his blanket and his pacifier from his bag and handed over the items, quietly asking JARVIS to pull down the blackout shades so that the room was slightly dim, but not too dark. Neither Bucky nor Steve liked sleeping in an environment that was too dark, and she was rather inclined to agree with that. Too many places someone could hide and ambush you when you slept. Crawling in beside him, she shushed him gently as silent tears rolled down his cheeks, holding him close. “I know. I know. Now what about you and I get some good sleep, hmm? JARVIS will wake us up in two hours, and we can see how we feel then,” Natasha adjusted the thick warm comforter over the two of them, and she could feel Steve relax at the familiar weight. “Go to sleep. We will see the others later and we can decide how we are doing then.” The warmth of Steve beside her was already lulling Natasha back into a stupor, her own eyes rapidly closing themselves.

When JARVIS informed her their two hour nap was over, Natasha thanked him blearily, wriggling into a sitting position and gently shaking Steve. Mewling tiredly, he rolled over and gave her a grumpy stare. “Still not very old, I see,” she said in amusement, rolling over an idea in her mind. “JARVIS, please have Phil come up when he can.” She finally murmured, and the AI chimed in assent. Natasha was curious how Phil would respond to the concept of age regression, and wanted to see whether or not he knew already. Knowing Phil, he’d already known about Stevie for a while.

 _Phil is just awake from his own nap,_ JARVIS informed her quietly. _He would like me to inform you that he will be there as soon as he can. First, he would like to handle a few messages. It should be about half an hour._

Natasha hummed. “Thank you. Would you put something on the television that is appropriate for Steve, please? I need to go and feed Liho.” She helped Steve to sit up, replaced his fingers with a pacifier so he wouldn’t chew on them, and then left him engrossed in a nature documentary about baby animals as she headed across to the elevator. Once inside her and Clint’s shared space, Natasha took the opportunity to take a quick shower before slipping back into a pair of clean sweats. Padding back into the kitchen, she quickly made sure Liho’s bowls were filled. “There you are!” she crooned softly as her kitten scampered into the room and twined herself around Natasha’s ankles. “You have been visiting again, I think,” she accused, and Liho mewed delicately as she sat down before her dish and began to eat. “You smell like Bruce’s incense, kotenok. Has Bruce used you for a meditation partner again?” Natasha crouched down and scratched between Liho’s ears, illiciting a deep thrumming purr from the animal. Cats were therapeutic much the same way dogs were, and lately Liho had taken to infiltrating Bruce’s meditation sessions, curling up in his lap and adding her soothing purr to the relaxing music he played. He had mentioned it over breakfast a few days back, and seemed to appreciate the addition. The warmth and weight in his lap, combined with the evenly spaced purrs seemed to help him ground himself and calm his mind more. She spent a few more minutes with her cat before standing up and stretching—she ought to get back to Steve.

Phil was surprised when he entered Bucky and Steve’s apartment. Steve had explained his situation to him before Bucky became a part of their team, and once Bucky had become a permanent resident, he’d explained it further. However, Phil had only met Steve while he was little a handful of times. He’d never been awkward around kids, but his job just didn’t cut him out to be “dad material”; whenever he explained this to Bucky, he simply laughed. He insisted that Phil didn’t have to take his place for Steve, just that he could function within their dynamic as one more person Stevie trusted, sort of like an Uncle figure. Phil stood in the doorway and chewed his lip a moment more, taking a deep breath. He had a couple biological nieces and nephews, surely this was no different. He’d even watched Stevie a few times before while Bucky had various things to do. Besides, he was a sweet boy that only ever offered quiet love and the best of behavior. Mentally scolding himself for spending so long outside the room, Phil cleared his throat softly and stepped forward. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured cautiously, as Stevie turned towards him and his eyes lit up. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.” He perched on the bed and Steve wriggled closer, reaching out. “Want a hug?” Phil guessed, and Stevie nodded, eyes bright. “Alright. I can do that.” He smiled and reached out in return, Steve clumsily wrapping his arms around him. That done and greetings out of the way, Stevie wriggled back into his cozy nest, pointing at the screen. A few Emperor penguin chicks screeched for food, and Phil found himself laughing quietly at their fuzzy forms. “I see them, bud. They’re pretty cute.” He agreed, turning his head as a hand squeezed his shoulder.

Natasha knew Phil had become conditioned to her silent entrances—now he didn’t even flinch when she touched him like this. Earlier in their partnership, he’d often been surprised or startled by her, now it was fluid and normal. “You have met him before?” she asked, openly curious as she stood beside him.

Phil nodded. “A couple times, actually. He told me about his regression before we located Bucky. After Bucky came to the tower, he filled in the rest of the blanks that Steve couldn’t. From time to time after that I was tasked babysitter if he was in headspace and Bucky needed to get something done.” Natasha’s expression morphed from curious and soft to openly jealous, making him grin slightly.

“You have known him for that long?” she was… envious? “I only met him before Clint and James left on their latest mission! Even then, it was reluctant and out of necessity, rather than trust.”

She sounded a mix of crestfallen and accusatory, and Phil was eager to expound. “Steve is obviously comfortable around you. He wouldn’t have opened up like this if he weren’t. He wouldn’t even have let Bucky open the door to you that day if he didn’t want to include you.” Steve tugged on his sleeve and he turned back to the nature scenes, obligatory happy comment sliding from his tongue with ease. Seemingly placated for the moment, Steve absorbed himself in the television once more and Phil continued. “Does that make sense? He’s a very guarded person, and this is something that he doesn’t share with just anyone.”

“He was uncomfortable when we went to breakfast and he was still like this.” She conceded, cocking her head.

Phil hummed. “He’s shy. Introducing him to everyone at once would be too much for him to handle.” He lifted his arms up as Steve went horizontal, laying his head in Phil’s lap. “But I have a hunch that sooner or later everyone will meet him anyway. The bolder he becomes, the more social he seems to get, at least with me anyway. The more time he spends knowing that someone won’t snub him or revile him for being like this, the more he opens up.”

Natasha rounded the bed and sat cross-legged against the headboard. “I…” she began, then seemed to think better of whatever she had begun to say. Phil turned towards her and gazed expectantly, used to having her process whatever she wanted to say before she really said it. “There is… something enticing about his innocence,” she began. “It is refreshing, but… also something that I wish that I could have experienced, or that Clint could have had. It is endearing.” She straightened and looked over at Phil. “I wish to discuss this with James. I would like for the whole team to participate in something like it, if they are willing.”

Phil was taken aback by Natasha’s sudden assertion, shifting a little to grab a tissue from the side table and wipe off a bit of drool from Steve’s cheek. He made no indication that he was inconvenienced by Phil’s actions, sleeping soundly on. “Um. I can see how it would be something you might want,” he started slowly, thinking over her words. “But… it would need to be discussed with the others. I mean, there’s a lot to think about under that umbrella, Natasha. Different moving parts like ages and caregivers and schedules. We’d need to have things to do to keep you all occupied, and to make sure that we had some sort of protection built into the schedule to give you all the right amount of time. For Steve, I know he requires a certain amount of time nearly every month in order to not be consumed by his headspace, or to have repercussions from his Big self get in the way. Having something like this be a part of your life consumes a large amount of time,” he mused, looking up as JARVIS chimed quietly.

_Agent Coulson, Agent Barton and Sergeant Barnes have neared the coordinates you specified. The medical team is on route with the extraction team, Doctor Banner accompanying them._

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Phil murmured. “I have to go check in with Clint,” he expertly moved the sleeping Steve off of his lap and replaced his legs with a pillow. “We can talk to Bucky about it when they get back. Until then, just keep a firm eye on Steve. If he’s feeling a little older than normal, he can start to wander.”

* * *

 

Bucky tossed and turned, body arching off his sleeping bag as muscles tensed and relaxed with remembered traumas. Grunts and other pained sounds slipped past clenched teeth, adding to the howl of the wind and snow outside their little hut. Across the floor, beyond the flickering firepit they had dug into the floor, Clint slept on—one hand clenched around his knife.

_Flashes. Pain. Blood. Electricity searing through his body. Doctors in white coats all around him. Needles. Cold steel beneath him. Sharp voices calling to one another in languages he didn’t understand._

_A train._

_More agony._

_Screaming, screaming until his throat gave out._

_A man… on the train. Hands grasping, bullets flying, shouting._

_An abyss. Blackness, then hands. German, that much he knew. Here and there he caught words he’d picked up in his travels. And something hurt. The pain consumed him, but not simply physical._

_Wherever he went, something inside hurt too._

_A man._

_A name, a feeling, something important he couldn’t remember._

_An airplane. Fire. Smoke. Fists colliding with flesh, knives ripping through fabric, and then… the man appeared. Everything he’d forgotten came rushing back, with the force of a thousand pounds right to his face. It **hurt.**_

“Steve!” the hoarse shout ripped from Bucky’s throat as he twisted over and up in one fluid motion, Clint following suit as he crouched into a defensive position, knife held aloft as he scanned the small room. Bucky’s harsh panting filled what silence wasn’t broken by the crackling of embers. He pressed a hand to his chest and gripped at the fabric that lay above rough Kevlar, shaking.

A beat passed and Clint went off guard, laying the knife down and pulling the coffee pot from the edge of the fire pit, pouring a cup of the stiff brew and holding it out. “Here. You don’t have to talk, but drinking something warm will help,” his voice was rough with the stress of a field mission, combined with his own rough dreams. Clint’s dreams had been… scrambled as of late, full of visions of team members dying and a cruel, taunting voice he couldn’t get out of his head. He shuddered quietly and moved to pour himself his own cup of warm brew once Bucky had accepted the other. He stoked the fire absently, light flaring up once more and providing a more cozy atmosphere.

“Thanks,” Bucky murmured after a few more moments of silence, offering the empty cup for a refill. Clint obliged, handing the cup back.

“I take it your dreams weren’t all unicorns and pixies, either.” Clint commented dryly, simply holding his mug between his palms to take in its warmth.

Bucky brushed hair from his face and made a sour expression. “Just, uh… everything, really. Missing Steve. Dreamed about when I fell off the train, among other things.”

“It’s only your second mission away from him long term,” Clint said gently. “Give it time. Things will get easier. That’s part of the reason that Phil wanted me to go out with you this time. He thinks Tasha and I are too dependent on one another. Wants to see how we can function independently of one another in a team environment. We do fine on solo ops, but… he’s not wrong. It feels like I’ve lost my balance when I’m not working with her. Like something’s missing.”

“You mean like an arm?”

Clint almost spit out his coffee. It took him an entire few minutes before he realized Bucky was teasing, his eyes traveling from his hands to Bucky’s face, where a shit-eating grin was fixed in place beneath tired eyes. “Well, I wasn’t going to bring it up, but if you started it then it’s okay.” He gave a wan smile in return, eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness. The two sat together in companionable silence for a few more moments before Bucky spoke up, tossing the remnants of his coffee onto the dirt floor.

“We should get moving. Sounds like the storm’s abated some.”

Clint followed suit and stood up, beginning to roll his sleeping bag back up. “Tony added a heating element to the Kevlar vests. Whenever the body temperature of the wearer gets below a certain level, it kicks on and raises it again.”

Bucky gave a low whistle. “Does he miss anything?”

Clint tossed his pack onto his back. “Doubt it. JARVIS keeps him pretty well informed about the team’s progress and whether or not any of the gear needs updates. He even added air based stabilizer upgrades to my bow, to keep it from getting knocked around too much in high winds.”

Bucky’s brows were so high up, Clint was afraid he’d lose them in his bangs if he were any more impressed. He laughed quietly and shook his head, tugging his beanie lower on his forehead as he pulled his balaclava on, kicking a layer of dirt over the dying fire. Once he was sure Bucky had gotten the rest of his supplies packed up, he motioned to the door. Bucky gave the ‘OK’ sign, and Clint hauled it open, cracking the delicate seal of ice from around the edges.

Slogging through the ever-deepening snow, the two made slow progress towards the small HYDRA base they were tasked with taking down. Clint kept his hand tucked into Bucky’s belt as the broader man pushed through the snow, clearing a pathway so that Clint could walk directly in his footsteps. Visibility was low to none, therefore it was paramount the two didn’t get separated—hence the holding onto one another. An hour into the journey he felt his vest begin to heat up gradually, and a smile spread across chapped lips hidden beneath the warmth of his balaclava. His hearing aid produced a chirp loud enough to be heard over the winds, and he tugged at Bucky’s belt. Apparently Tony had also upgraded his hearing aids to add a comms system, so he didn’t have to wear the standard one the others did, and risk losing or damaging one of his aids. Phil’s voice was clear as ever through his aids, giving him weather updates and intel on the latest sattelite images of the base. Bucky hunched his shoulders against the wind and waited for Clint to relay a signal. A moment later the two were heading off in a new direction, grateful for the cover of the storm and the heat of Tony’s special bullet-proof vests.

The surprises Tony left for him to find just kept coming for Clint as he slid his bow from his back, fully expecting to have to do some sort of maneuvering to get it unfrozen or to dislodge ice crystals from the sight, but apparently Tony had mastered the anti-freeze serum he’d been muttering about the last two times he’d had Clint down in the lab, because true to form, it immediately worked. No fuss, no nothing.

A predatory grin appeared on Clint’s lips as he slipped his balaclava into his inside pocket and knelt down, Bucky using his body to brace behind him against the winds. He hadn’t been an assassin for hire for a long time, but nothing could ever compare to the thrill he got when he loosed an arrow and it met its mark, especially when it meant getting to watch a HYDRA agent topple like a domino.

Bucky’s hands were steady and solid as he marked out a placement for his feet in the snow, curling around Clint so the archer could have less of an onslaught from the winds. He felt himself holding his breath in sympathy as Clint reached up and grabbed an arrow. In a matter of seconds, the two guards were down, and Bucky was on his feet, running just to the right of Clint as they headed for the front entrance.

Phil’s voice was steady as ever in his ear as Clint and Bucky approached their first point of contact with the HYDRA agents; ever his anchor, Phil’s voice kept him calm and on target as he guided him through the maze of hallways and opponents, Bucky tailing him. The base was small, not one of the main bases by far, but intel said there were a few of SHIELD’s missing agents held inside. Rounding a corner, Clint suddenly found himself choked up in a narrow hallway with several agents waiting for him. Taking a breath, he reached into his pocket and filled his palm with several small discs, courtesy of Natasha and Tony’s expertise. Brain slowed by his sniper’s breathing technique, Clint was able to map out quickly his next few moves. With a sweep of his wrist, the little discs made contact with the opposing agents’ clothing, immediately sending a stunning wave of electricity through them, and the first four dropped like flies. Another surge swept forward, and he moved into action, a slight gleam of silver from the corner of his eye telling him that Bucky had reached the fight, and his throwing knives were in full force.

Together, the two made quick work of the small contingent of agents waiting for them, breaking through into the main room of the warehouse. The temperature inside the cordoned off room was freezing, and Clint could feel Bucky getting edgier the more they moved into the room. Bucky was nearly at his back now, gripping his rifle tightly as Clint kept one arrow nocked and ready for action. There had been suspiciously less agents than he’d planned for guarding the outside of the holding room, and he knew Bucky could tell it too. Motioning with his chin, he headed around the left side of the caged off hallway, meaning for Bucky to take the left. “I got your six.” He promised when Bucky hesitated for the briefest second. “You’re not what they say you are.” Seeming uncertain in the face of his old captors, Bucky set his jaw and snarled, giving a nod as he headed parallel to Clint. Inside his hearing aid, Phil’s voice could be heard, hoping that the enterprise went well and Bucky came back in one piece. At the end, quietly, he snarled a curse against Fury for forcing this assignment on Bucky, and Clint silently agreed with all he could muster.

Once he’d reached the main holding area, Clint used the given device to melt the bars, motioning to the emaciated agents within to make their escape quickly as possible. Grateful but hollow eyes looked back at him as they, some supported by others as they still mumbled their serial numbers, began to move out of their captive cell. Bucky eventually joined him, looking horrified and Clint set his jaw. “Let’s get the hell outta here. Phil’s in my ear saying he’s got men fifteen minutes out. All we gotta do is provide cover for these guys till they can get to the jet. Bruce’s got a medical team standing by to take over once they get boarded.” His steely gaze tracked the slow progress of the agents down the hallway, heart in his throat as he and Bucky followed, still unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

They managed to see the team of agents onto their extraction jet before all hell broke loose.

Snow blew and engines strained as the jet carrying the rescued agents took off, helicopter meant for Bucky and Clint hovering just above them, ladder dangling in the wind as bullets sprayed and lights pierced through the blowing snow. The din of bullets rang out, Clint and Bucky pivoting on the spot and immediately returning fire as several jeeps of HYDRA agents with heavy lighting came rolling through the snow towards them.

“Shit!” Bucky yelled, and Clint seconded the notion as he quickly pulled his bow from his back and began to return fire with any kind of arrow his hand found. Lucky for him, Tony had included several explosives in this batch, and he was able to take out three of the jeeps full of agents before they got too close. He considered himself one of the best marksman in the agency, but making those shots in the current wind was a feat even for him. Bucky continued to spray them with bullets, and Clint was grateful for the warmth of Tony’s vest kicking back in as he struggled to pick off the advancing agents. The din continued for several more moments, helicoptor stirring up even more snow as it hovered overhead before Clint set his jaw and made his decision. “Phil!” He yelled over the snow, praying that Tony had installed two-way communication in his new aids. “Tell the extraction team to move on! It’s too much with the copter hovering like that!” He grunted in surprise and leapt to the side as a HYDRA agent lobbed a grenade at the pair of them. Shrapnel grazed the side of his cheek, and he winced, feeling the warm ooze of blood against cold skin as he pushed himself up and nocked another arrow, Bucky throwing his own grenade in return, looking grimly satisfied as he blew the fourth jeep into tiny bits—must have been a Stark modified special. Aids knocked temporarily offline by the blast, Clint reeled as he struggled to adjust to the sensory input going from ultimate death match to absolute silence, turning to face Bucky just as his lips formed the phrase ‘move!’—but it was too late. Pain exploded in Clint’s leg and his knee crumpled, sending him down into the treacherous embrace of icy snow. Warm blood pooled from his leg, turning the ivory expanse scarlet as it steamed in the subzero temperatures. Vaguely, he realized someone had gotten off multiple hits to his leg, but he was getting too fuzzy to care.

Above, bright lights flashed, but Clint was too out of it to realize that help had come.

Bucky cursed, slinging his rifle back across his shoulders, last knife in hand as he faced off the last advancing group of agents line some enraged animal. True, he was absolutely mad with fury already due to several good men and women being captured and experimented on by the same people that had treated him like scum for so long, but now? Now they’d hurt one of his team members, and they would most definitely pay. Bellowing like a wounded elephant, Bucky charged forward, feeling a current of hot air above him as a bright light flashed by.

“Stark!” he crowed as his metal fist met flesh of a HYDRA agent that had launched himself from the side of the jeep.

“Heard you two could use a little help!” Tony’s voice projected from the suit as he swerved and began to make a second pass, repulsor beams shooting from his palms to down several agents in one move.

“What were you doing, just waiting for us to screw up?” he hollered above the wind, tugging his knife from the arm of one agent and propelling it several feet into the neck of another.

“I was following orders, like a good soldier!” Tony yelled back, scanning the heads-up display as JARVIS projected Clint’s vital information for him. He cursed. Barton was in a bad way. “Barnes! Get back! I’m gonna blow it up!” he made an executive decision in the interest of giving Clint a better chance.

Bucky scrambled, diving behind a nearby snowdrift as another flash lit up the night sky, the heat of the explosion halfway melting his hiding spot as he heard Tony fly over to where Clint lay in the snow. His ears were ringing, but he had bigger matters to attend to as he pushed himself up and forced cold feet to carry him over to where Tony had knelt beside Clint. “How is he?” Bucky yelled over the wind, welcome lights of the chopper pivoting through the blowing snow, returning to carry them back to someplace better.

“He’s not looking good,” Tony finally replied, gathering him into his arms and righting himself. “We gotta get him stable.” Not waiting for Bucky’s response, Tony took off, flying their injured teammate to the helicopter. Waiting for the ladder to lower, Bucky took a few running steps before using his super strength to leap nearly to the top of it in one bound, pilot already turning and beginning to move them out of harm’s way as he did so. Scrambling inside, the door slid itself shut and blessed warmth and silence reigned as JARVIS rattled off statistics to Tony in a quiet voice. Dropping his weapon, Bucky went to the chair where Tony had deposited Clint, kneeling.

“How can I help? I used to play medic for the boys during the war, when we didn’t have access to the med tent.”

A panel slid open in the wall and Tony pulled out a first-aid kit. “We need to put a tourniquet on the thigh,” he began, and Bucky nimbly pulled off his belt and had the action finished in a matter of seconds.

“Gotta see to that calf,” he murmured, and Tony hummed. “It’s pretty torn up. You wanna wrap it or?”

JARVIS spoke up, through the chopper’s speaker system. _You have put a tourniquet on Agent Barton’s thigh, which will help control the bleeding until he reaches a medical bay. However, there are bullets in three places: thigh, foot, and hip. The bullet that hit Agent Barton’s calf passed through cleanly, though it tore his muscle. The muscle will rebuild itself after surgery. I would suggest now that the biggest danger is out of the way, elevating his foot and wrapping a tight band of cloth around a thick gauze pad to control the bleeding to foot and hip. There are no proper materials on board to see to removing the bullets. The best I can do is to continue to update you on Agent Barton’s vital signs every hour, and for the two of you to make sure he is as comfortable as possible._

“Come on. We gotta get that shoe off his injured foot,” Bucky’s voice was commanding, and Tony could see how he must have been during the war. He was firm, urgent, but also still somehow encouraging.

Quickly, Tony used the barest hint of a laser from the finger of his right gauntlet to cut the shoe from Clint’s foot, rather than attempting to jostle an already injured appendage by taking it completely off his foot. In a few moments, the boot had fallen from his foot with minimal assistance by Bucky.

“Right,” Bucky spoke up, eyes traveling over Clint’s body and the alarming shades of dark spots covering his black uniform. “Gotta get that jacket and the vest, then he should be good.”

Tony nodded, watching as Bucky began to strip Clint from his jacket and his vest. “JARVIS, can you estimate how much blood he’s lost, and do we have any on hand that can match him?”

_Agent Barton’s file lists him as blood type B, sir. I believe he has lost around a pint of blood. There is currently blood on hand for only types AB and A. Neither one of you is compatible to donate blood to Agent Barton. You are type A, and Sergeant Barnes is AB. Compatible members of the team include: Agent Romanoff, Agent Coulson, and Captain Rogers. Agent Romanoff is type B, Agent Coulson is type O, and Captain Rogers is type O._

Bucky let loose a soft string of filthy language, laying aside the vest and jacket he’d stripped from Clint. Leaning forward, he felt at Clint’s wrist. “JARVIS, his pulse is thready. How long till we’re near somewhere that can get us blood?”

JARVIS chimed softly, sounding almost as nervous as Bucky felt. _The nearest hospital is five hours away by helicopter. I am relaying your information to Doctor Banner now. He is with the medical team on the jet._

Soon, Bruce’s perturbed face was suspended across the window. He looked worried, creases around his eyes deep as he looked down at a printout he’d run off. It took several tense seconds of him muttering to himself before he finally spoke directly to them. “Okay. So… he’s got three injuries. Two bullets stayed, one didn’t, and he’s lost a lot of blood already. You two aren’t matches. I’ve got a few units here that should work, but Tony will have to come get them,” he shrugged out of his lab coat and reached out of frame. “The surgeons on hand are prepping and ready, if we can get you close enough for Tony to transfer him to the jet,” Bruce took a steadying breath. “Right. Tony, come get those type O packets. Bucky, I want you to just monitor him, okay? Sit there like you’ve been doing and see if he comes back to consciousness. Once the storm weakens a little bit we can try to close the gap between the jet and the helicopter. For now I’m gonna need you to perform a transfusion for me so we can keep Clint stable until then. I need to know whether it was blood loss or the fall that did it. Phil said something about a grenade before he lost contact with you through Clint’s feed?”

Tony took off, door closing swiftly behind him and Bucky nodded. “Yeah. The bastards lobbed one right for us and it must have knocked out his hearing aids. He’s gonna want those back.”

Bruce hummed in agreement. “It can be disorienting to go from everything to nothing like that. It won’t help him be grounded or calm when he wakes up and can’t understand anything. Have Tony tinker with them when he gets back. I’ll walk you through the process for transfusing Clint’s blood.”

Bucky felt a churning in his gut and must have looked a little green around his gills, because Bruce spoke up again. “Don’t worry. You won’t hurt him. JARVIS will help, too. You’ll do great, I promise.”

“I sure hope you’re right.”

The next few minutes were tense as ever while they waited for Tony to return with the blood, Clint stirring fitfully. Bucky leaned forward hopefully and placed a hand on Clint’s shoulder, squeezing softly, coaxing him back to consciousness. Clint shifted a little more, then gave an agonized groan as his eyes fluttered, trying hard to focus. Bucky leaned into his field of vision, an encouraging smile on his face. He raised his hands and began to sign clumsily.

**Aids knocked out. Got shot. Lost blood.**

Bucky didn’t know near as much sign language as the others did, and he wished Tony were here. He knew more. Clint’s brow furrowed, and JARVIS slid the feed of Bruce into his line of sight, Bruce smoothly taking over.

**Lie still, Clint. You’ve been shot and Tony is going to get you some blood. I’m going to walk Bucky through the process of hooking you up to it. You don’t have to respond. As soon as you’re stable, we’re going to try to get the copter close to the jet so that Tony can transfer you to the team here. Then I’ll help them get those bullets out of your leg.**

Sluggishly, Clint formed the ‘OK’ sign with one hand where it lay against the seat. Bruce was satisfied to see that Clint was at least tracking what he’d said. A moment later another snow flurry entered the cabin as Tony returned with the bag containing the blood. “Alright, Bruce. I’m back.”

“I’m going to walk Bucky through it. Set the things he needs out on the seat by Clint so that he can get to them easily. Bucky, I want you to first go to the first aid kit and get a few alcohol swabs so you can clean off Clint’s arm. Most likely the debris was all on his clothes and not his arm, but you’re going to want to clean it before you insert a needle. Tear one open and then swab the crease. After that you’re going to connect the tubing together so that the needle is on the end.”

Bucky moved as quickly as he dared, not wanting to waste any time for Clint’s sake. “Okay. Now what?” he eyed the tubing and the bags of blood that Tony had set on the seat next to Clint.

“Now you’re going to very carefully insert the needle into the vein in his elbow, putting the bag up on the back of the chair so it’ll flow down naturally.” He waved to get Clint’s attention and signed again. **It will be cold. Prepare yourself.** Clint made the ‘OK’ sign again, and Bruce looked slightly more worried. “His reactions are getting more sluggish. I don’t like that.”

With steady sniper’s hands, Bucky inserted the needle and taped it down, laying the bag on the little shelf behind the seats as instructed. The sight of medical equipment normally gave him a bad feeling in his stomach, but he felt none of his normal trepidation knowing he was expected to help one of his friends and teammates. “Do you want to give him both pints, or just the one for now?”

“Give him one, then wait. See how he responds. You’re going to need to monitor him for any signs of an allergic reaction during the first few minutes. Some people get reactions to transfusions. JARVIS, keep a track on those vital signs. Bucky, I want you to keep signing to him to keep him alert so he can tell you whether or not he feels like something isn’t going right,” Bucky nodded and slid to a seated position in front of Clint. He gave a smile and Clint lethargically returned it.

 _Will I live, doc?_ He signed with his free arm, and Bruce gave a nervous smile, JARVIS helpfully arranging the video feed so that Clint could read his lips.

“You’ll be fine, Clint. I want you to keep yourself alert for me, okay? If anything about this transfusion feels off, tell Bucky about it immediately. It should take about an hour for this to be finished and for us to know if you’re stable enough to get you over here to the jet.”

Clint nodded, grimacing as turbulence from the storm jostled his bad leg. Bucky took his free hand in his own and allowed Clint to grip it tight to manage the pain.

Bruce turned to Tony once more. “Tony, is there any way you can fly that copter any faster? If we keep a tourniquet on that leg for longer than a few hours, I’m worried we’ll lose it. Factoring in the time it takes for him to receive this unit of blood, and the expected pattern of the storm, I give it about two hours before he’ll be ready to move and the weather lets up enough for you to transport him.”

Tony nodded, looking grim as his faceplate retracted once more. “I understand. We’ll keep an eye on him, and I’ll have JARVIS pick it up a little bit, but until the wind dies down, we’re sitting ducks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Milaya-- Sweetie  
> Kotenok-- Kitten


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha isn't happy with Clint, Phil and Steve have a conversation that unnerves Steve, and Bucky calms him down. Meals are cooked and words exchanged, and Natasha has an idea that Steve's not too keen on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on a companion piece to this one so look for that soon! Also working on the second part of this series that will pick up soon after this leaves off.

Clint struggled, pushing against the weight of his own consciousness. He couldn’t hear anything. It was cold. _Very_ cold-- Cold around him and cold underneath him, and cold _inside_ him, and his ears didn’t work right. All sound was lost to him. Something jostled him and he could feel his throat and chest work to produce a groan of agony, though his ears didn’t complete the cycle. Gentle hands, warm hands probed along his throat to check his pulse, and soon he could tell he was being deposited onto something soft, laid out from head to foot. He tried to move, but more hands appeared out of nowhere and pressed down on him. Prying open his eyes, he relaxed a little when his gaze landed on Bruce.

“B-Bruce,” he couldn’t tell if he was too loud, but he didn’t care. He just needed someone to hear him, to help him understand why it was so cold and why everything _hurt_ so much.

The doctor’s industrious hands stilled, and a soft smile appeared on his face. Oh, but he was glad to hear something from Clint. “Hey.” He kept his lips moving more than normal, so that Clint could read them. “You need to be still. Tony brought you over from the copter, but you need to cooperate with us. You could lose that leg if you don’t let us do our thing.”

Clint’s brow furrowed in confusion, the fog pressing down on him so hard he could barely form a coherent thought. _Leg?_ He signed, far more confident in clumsy hands than he was in being unable to hear his own voice.

“You got shot.” Bruce stated bluntly, a slight snarl to his voice as he helped the team move the gurney down the narrow halls and into the prepped surgery room. Immediately, the assembled nurses sprang into action, cutting off Clint’s clothes and grabbing a surgical gown from the closet. “Now, you just lay back and let us get you taken care of.” He swiftly started up the IV, keeping a comforting hand on the patient’s shoulder until the anesthesia did its job, and he was drifting off. “Alright. Let’s get going, people,” Bruce clapped his hands and moved behind the curtains to change into sterile scrubs, while the nurses got Clint into the gown and set up his oxygen mask.

The next couple of hours were tense within the operating room. Tony paced the hall still in his Iron Man suit, daring anyone to encroach on his space. He’d sent the chopper back home once it had been decided he would take Clint over to the jet for surgery. Bucky sat to the right of the door, twirling a knife in his hand nervously. All they could do was wait, and it was infuriating. The two sat outside the surgical suite for another hour before Bruce finally emerged, looking tired but pleased.

“We saved his leg.” He murmured, and Bucky and Tony breathed intense sighs of relief. “It was dicey for a bit, but we got everything taken care of. He’s going to need to be relocated to the recovery suite, if you guys want to head over there. Tony,” he pulled Clint’s hearing aids from his coat. “You’ll want to have these fixed before he wakes up. It’ll be disorienting enough for him to come out of this without them. If they’re fixed and ready by the time he wakes up, it’ll help him transition easier.”

Tony took the small gadgets from Bruce’s open palm, nodding. “Right. I think I have the right materials on hand. I’ll head down to the lab first before I come to see him.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I’ll go with Clint to the recovery suite. He’ll need somebody to sit with him.”

“Thank you,” Bruce spoke with a smile. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate the company when he wakes up.”

The transion went smoothly, Clint staying asleep for the whole of it, resting peacefully. Tony got the aids fixed within a few minutes, placing them beside the bed on the little table so that Clint would have easy access to them when he woke up. He didn’t want to violate Clint’s personal space by trying to put them in while he was sleeping.

Together, the two waited patiently until Clint woke, Bruce flitting in and out from checking on the other agents to monitor Clint’s vital signs. Fortunately, their archer was made of sturdy stuff, and he was awake within an hour.

Tony leaned forward and gave a wary smile, tapping his ear and pointing to the aids on the table. Clint lifted a lethargic arm and settled the aids into his ears with a little sigh.

“T-thanks,” he mumbled. “What happened?”

“You were pretty bad for a while there,” Bucky spoke up. “But don’t worry. We got you all fixed up.”

“We got the bastards that did it?”

“Yeah, Tony blasted them with the suit.”

Tony rubbed tiredly at his beard and nodded. “Just focus on getting some rest.”

Bruce strode back into the room, smiling. “It’s good to see you up and at ‘em, Clint.” He murmured, moving to the bedside and checking over him again. “How are you feeling?”

Clint grimaced. “Less that stellar, but I guess that’s to be expected. At least I’ve still got my leg.”

Bruce laughed softly. “At least. Do you want anything? Hungry? Thirsty?”

Clint pursed his lips, thinking. “I could use a snack.”

“You can have something bland. Apple sauce or maybe some broth. Don’t want you to get sick. Anesthetic can mess with your stomach sometimes.”

Tony pushed to his feet. “I could use some coffee. I’ll go down and grab you something, Clint. You want anything?” he turned to Bucky.

“Coffee?” Bucky asked hopefully, and Tony nodded.

“Two coffees and an applesauce, coming right up.” He strode down the hallway, towards the kitchen.

Bruce helped to prop Clint up, Bucky tapping away at his phone. “Texting Steve?” he asked.

“Updating Tasha.” He murmured, and Clint paled.

“She’s gonna kill me,” Clint murmured, and Bruce laughed.

“She won’t kill you, Clint. But I’d bet anything she’ll lecture you on being more aware next time.”

“Yeah, well. I still don’t want it.” He grumbled, and it was Bucky’s turn to laugh.

A beat of silence passed and Tony returned, carrying a tray of cups.

“Coffee for you,” he handed Bucky the steaming cup. “And applesauce for you,” he handed over the spoon and the little plastic cup, sinking back down into his chair, putting the tray on the ground and holding his own coffee in his hand. He gazed down at the little sworls of steam curling from the surface of the black liquid before clearing his throat.

The sounds of Clint scraping the plastic spoon against the cup grated against the silence of the room, broken only by the sounds his medical monitors made. Bruce had finished his check-up, filled out his chart and returned it to the end of the bed, giving Clint a pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be back on your feet in no time, buddy,” he assured, giving the others a little wave as he headed back down to grab some food and a change of clothes. Tony leaned forward and put his empty cup on the little side table, crossing his ankles over one another as he placed his feet on the end of Clint’s bed. “So. Anyone up for a little game to pass the time?”

Bucky looked up eagerly from his phone. “Like what?”

Tony hummed, inclining his head. “I was thinking something simple. Y’know like… maybe twenty questions or…”

“Maybe ‘guess my object?’” Bucky perked up. “Stevie and I used to play that all the time whenever he was sick.”

“How’s it work?” Clint asked, squirming a bit and grimacing. Bucky leaned forward and adjusted his pillows. “Thanks.”

Bucky gave a little smile. “No problem. So, here’s how it works: we all take turns asking questions about what my object is. I can’t give out clues per se, but what I can do is give ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers. You each get five guesses since there are two of you. Whoever gets the closest to or guesses correctly wins.”

“I don’t think that’s a real game,” Tony said skeptically, nibbling on a fingernail.

Bucky laughed. “Hey, when you spend hours with an invalid you learn to come up with creative variations on common games.” He defended himself. Bucky had almost said something about a sick toddler, but he’d managed to catch himself before the words had left his mouth. Thankfully. He wasn’t sure he or Steve were ready for anyone besides Phil and Natasha (and JARVIS) to know their little secret.

Clint shifted and the springs of the mattress creaked. “I’m down if you are. Tony?”

“Sure. We won’t be home for several hours anyway, so we have to occupy ourselves somehow.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Alright. Lemme have a second to pick my object. Clint, you’ll ask me first, then Tony.” He steepled his hands beneath his chin, staring down at his boots while he thought. His mind cast back to the time he’d helped Stevie nurse a bird back to health. The little chick had fallen from the fire escape, and they had helped it until its wing was healed. A slight smile played his lips as he spoke back up. “Got it.”

“Are you….” Clint nibbled at his lip, grateful for the distraction from the pain he’d started to feel. “Uh… are you… is your object, I mean… alive?”

“Yes. Tony?” Bucky looked across at Tony, whose eyes were sparkling as he thought. Bucky had known that a game like this was going to be something good for him and his heightened intellect. A scientist’s brain couldn’t be kept stagnant for long, especially if that scientist were also an engineer, a blacksmith, and a super-hero.

“Is your object….” Tony took his feet down and propped his elbows on his knees, chin on his hands. “Okay, your object is alive. Is your object… is your object… a plant?”

“No. Clint?”

“Okay. Alive but not a plant. Is it an animal?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, come on! This is like, a grade school level of playing to make it an animal!” Tony complained.

Bucky grinned. “You gotta guess which one, though.”

“Uh… bird?”

“Yes.”

“Hawk?” Clint asked hopefully, and Bucky grinned further.

“Nah. Tony? Guess this one right and you’ll win!”

“Sparrow.”

“Correct. Now Tony has to come up with something for us to guess.”

Clint nearly crowed in indignation. “Ah, come on! You know he’s gonna pick something all sciency and you and I aren’t gonna be able to guess it!”

“Calm down, kid, you’re gonna bust your stitches.” Bucky laughed quietly.

“Kid?” Clint spluttered.

“Everybody’s a kid to me. I’m over a hundred.”

Tony cleared his throat. “If you two are done arguing. Grandpa over there gets the first guess this time.” He settled back, arms behind his head and a grin fixed in place.

Bucky let out a breath of air, looking out at the door of the med bay. “Uh… Hmm. Okay so mine was organic and living. Betcha anything yours is some kinda element. Is it?”

“No.”

Clint hummed. “Is it a person?”

“Yes.”

“Team member?” Bucky yawned a little.

“No.”

“Scientist?”

“Yes.”

“I shoulda known. Okay so… what scientists do I know…. Uh… Tesla? He’s a scientist right?”

“No.”

“Wait, ‘no’ he isn’t or ‘no’ that isn’t the answer?” Bucky hurried to clarify.

“Yes.”

“This was a terrible idea. Now he’s just gonna stall over this,” Clint muttered, rubbing his eyes with a little yawn. “I’m gonna have to bow out, I think. I’m… tired.”

“Get some rest,” Bucky murmured. “Tony and I’ll keep the game going while you sleep. You need to rest.”

Clint just hummed sleepily, wiggling deeper into the heavy blankets Bruce had provided. He was asleep in moments.

* * *

 

Phil paced nervously, every so often looking over his shoulder at a worried Natasha, who stood beside the still sleeping Steve.

Cursing softly to himself, Phil rubbed at his temples and pivoted on the spot, staring at Natasha. She gave a deep chuckle.

“This is routine. Why are we so upset? Clint’s in good hands, and he’s stable.”

Phil rolled his shoulders to loosen himself up, shrugging. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really make sense, but no matter how many times he’s injured, or either of you is injured, I still get like this.”

Natasha set her phone on the bedside table and perched on the bed, rubbing at Steve’s shoulders. “Steve,” she whispered. “You have been asleep for hours. It is time to wake up and have something more substantial to eat.”

Steve shifted in his sleep, groaning softly. “S’matter?” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes.

“Good. You are yourself now.” She answered curtly. “You need to shower and have something to eat. Clint has been injured, but the team is on route home now with the freed agents.”

“Bucky?” Steve asked, flinging his feet over the side of the bed and running a hand down his face.

“Safe.” Phil answered. “Go ahead and get your shower, Steve. Natasha and I will go down there and start lunch.”

Steve nodded, grateful for Phil’s take charge attitude. Shuffling tiredly, he made it to the bathroom and began to strip, JARVIS already helpfully running him a warm shower. Quickly as he was able, Steve began to clean himself off, washing his hair and sticking his face under the warmth of the spray to wake himself up. “JARVIS,” he spoke up. “What exactly happened while I was asleep?”

_I believe, sir, that you missed not only Agent Barton’s wounding but also a conversation between Agents Romanoff and Coulson concerning the subject of age regression and the positive affects it might have on the team._

Steve frowned in confusion, stepping out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Wait, you mean… one of them wants to… to try this out with the entire team?”

_Agent Romanoff believes that for certain team members, this unorthodox form of coping could become a useful therapeutic technique to cope with the high stress lifestyle as well as to further team dynamics._

“Romanoff…” he mused, sliding into a clean pair of sweats and underwear. “Natasha wants… but what would the others think?” he asked, nervous now as he pulled on one of Bucky’s tees. “Won’t they hate me?”

_Hate is a strong word, Steve. I do not believe they will react as you fear. You forget you have Bucky, Natasha, and Phil on your side._ The AI was far less formal than normal, and Steve wondered whether he was reacting to his own sense of unease and elevated vital signs.

“I…” he protested weakly, leaning against the wall and putting a hand against it, as if to make contact with JARVIS. “I hope you’re right. I just… have this fear that if someone new was to discover…. I mean Natasha was okay… but… the others might not, though…”

_I would advise you not to worry, Steve._ JARVIS’ voice was soft, encouraging. _If everything went fine with Natasha, I am sure that it will with the rest of the team. It seems that your Little self is far more trusting than your Big self. Perhaps if you were to regress before meeting the others, you would not feel so fearful of a hostile reaction._

Steve considered for a moment. “I… I guess so. S’not so bad when D-Bucky’s there…” he caught himself before he said ‘daddy,’ still terribly unused to discussing all of this. “Can… we not talk about this anymore?” he asked, straightening his shirt. “Makes me nervous.”

_Absolutely._ JARVIS answered. _Phil and Natasha have begun to cook pasta, and there are breadsticks in the oven. May I suggest you join them and ease your anxieties by helping them cook?_

“Good idea,” Steve mumbled, taking a deep breath as he strode into the elevator. “Helps if I’m doing something to keep me distracted.” He stepped off into the hallway, following his nose to the delicious scent of bread in the oven. “Smells good,” he murmured, entering to the sight of Phil babysitting boiling pasta and Natasha chopping chicken.

“Thought we needed something homey tonight,” Phil responded. “Chicken alfredo seemed like a good choice.”

Steve hummed. “I’m good with that,” he moved to the other large pot of noodles, plucking one with a spoon and tasting it. “Oh, that is not done,” his face of disgust caused Natasha to laugh.

“Go and stir the sauce,” she told him. “I will have this chicken ready to add to that pan of olive oil in a moment.”

Steve allowed himself to be pushed out of her way, standing easily beside Phil and stirring the sauce. Reaching around, he picked up a clean spoon from the drawer to the right of the stove and dipped it inside, tasting it. “Mm… needs salt,” he murmured, adding a pinch of the seasoning from the little pot behind the stove. For good measure, Steve also cracked a bit more fresh pepper into the mix before tasting again with another clean spoon. “That’s better.” He grinned.

“Now that’s done, you can go pull the bread out and start wrapping it up to stay warm,” Phil directed, and Steve acquiesced quietly.

Natasha continued to trim most of the fat from the chicken, occasionally adding a new bit to the large pan of crackling oil. Phil flitted between the cooking noodles and the cooking chicken, stirring here and there to keep things from burning while Steve saw to the bread. Soon enough, the little part of their team that remained at home was sitting down to an excellent meal. Dishes of elegantly coiled pasta steamed lightly, and breadsticks coated with the perfect mix of garlic and butter peeked out of their tea towel.

The three sat in silence, the only sound the clinking of forks against bowls as they had their meal. Within moments JARVIS was announcing the others had returned, and lunch was abandoned in the wake of their concern. Natasha was, of course, the first one there as Bruce and the nurses pushed Clint’s gurney down the ramp.

Immediately, she was at his side, hands on either side of his face, kissing him passionately. “You were not safe,” she accused, glaring. “You were not fine. Without Bruce, you would not be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, hands coming up to grip her wrists. “My aids blew out, I was disoriented, and the snow didn’t help.” Clint kissed her hand. “Next time, you’re coming with me.”

“Agreed,” Natasha’s face was one line of worry as she stepped to the side, maintaining a grip on one of his hands as Bruce began to move him forward again.

Phil made no comment, following at a distance as Steve crept up beside Bucky. Together, the entire team accompanied Bruce to get Clint settled in the room he shared with Natasha. Natasha was a force to be reckoned with once the door closed behind them, curses and threats flying in no less than five languages as the rest of them beat a hasty retreat towards the elevator.

Steve leaned against Bucky as the doors closed, a smile playing at Tony and Bruce’s lips.

“Poor Clint,” Bruce remarked wryly, Tony laughing along with him.

“Clint’s had worse,” was Phil’s only reply, as he crossed his arms.

Together, they stepped off on the common floor, filtering back towards the smell of food.

“Getcha a plate?” Steve asked Bucky in a quiet aside.

“To go?” Bucky asked, rubbing a dirty hand down his face. “I’m dog tired, pal. Don’t want anything more than a good shower and some sleep.”

“Get on, then,” Steve grabbed a tray from underneath the oven. “I’ll have the food up in a jiff.” He bundled up a good portion of pasta and bread, setting them on the tray and nodding at the others by way of goodbye. Using his feet to nudge open the doors, Steve brought the food into their little kitchen nook, setting it down on the table and making quick work of setting their places. Before he took the covers off the dishes, he made his way over to the bathroom, letting himself in. “Challenging op?” he asked over the din of the shower.

“Routine, till that bastard got to Clint,” Bucky replied, relishing the feeling of having clean hair. He stood beneath the warm water for a long pause before picking up the bar of soap and working on getting his skin clean.

“Shame,” Steve hopped up onto the counter, crossing his legs as he leaned back against the mirror.

“He’ll be alright. Doc got him all fixed up. Between that and Natasha’s hovering, he’ll be right as rain in a few weeks. She won’t let him out of that bed for anything except to piss. Mark my words,” Bucky felt the jets of water adjust to work out a knot in his right shoulder and moaned at the sensation. “JARVIS, you’re a God-send,” he praised the AI.

_I help however I can, sir._ JARVIS responded modestly.

“I dunno if I could shower anymore without you there to move those fancy shower heads around,” Steve chimed in with a laugh. “It’s like a little massage while you get clean.”

The water shut itself off and Bucky stepped out, grabbing his towel from the hanger beside the tub. Steve helpfully held out the clean clothes Bucky had laid on the sink, and he gave a thankful and winning smile. “Ah, thanks, pal.” Steve waited until he leaned forward to take the clothes, then gripped his shoulders and brought him forward, kissing him.

“Missed ya.”

“Missed you too, ya little punk.” Bucky murmured against his lips before tugging gently away to slip into his pajamas. “Now get yourself in there and finish your dinner. I know you didn’t finish up before I got home.”

Steve blushed and ducked out, leaving Bucky to toss his dirty towel in the hamper. Uncovering their dishes of pasta, Steve unrolled the tea towel from around the breadsticks just as Bucky strolled back into the room.

“Smells amazing. What’d you three cook up?”

“Fettuccine with chicken,” Steve responded through a large mouthful, and Bucky raised his brows in disapproval.

“You know that isn’t gonna go anywhere. Not anymore. We don’t gotta live from meal to meal anymore, Steve. Not with Tony around to take care of us.” He softened as he stared across, breaking a breadstick in half to dip in his pasta. “Now eat slower, runt, or you’ll get a stomachache.”

Steve blushed and let up on the speed, the two eating in silence until they’d cleared the dishes out of all food.

“I’m stuffed,” Bucky groaned, leaning back and stretching. “That was good. Remind me to thank Phil later. But now,” he grunted and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m heading right to bed. I’m bushed.” He ruffled Steve’s hair. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m asleep.”

Steve’s face was the picture of angelic innocence as he looked up at Bucky. “I’d never!”

Bucky scoffed. “Just get those dishes cleaned and put back.”

* * *

 

Clint fell asleep halfway through Natasha’s tirade, drugs Bruce had given for the pain finally taking hold. She sighed and sat down on the bed, running a hand through his hair. Liho chirped softly from her position on Clint’s chest. “I know, kitten. He is reckless, no? But next time I will fight anyone who tries to separate us.” Liho mewed quietly. “Because, darling feline, he is the love of my life…” she whispered. “He was there when no-one else was… and… if he were to be taken from me now, I… I do not know what I would do.” Natasha’s voice wavered, and she ducked her head, wiping at her eyes. She picked up one of Clint’s hands and kissed it. “Stay with him, Liho. Keep him safe. Make sure that he gets his rest.” She shut the door behind her, wandering into the kitchen to pour herself a drink. Her augmented metabolism didn’t allow for her to get drunk, but she could still steady her nerves with a little scotch. Clint always kept a small stash of the good stuff in the kitchen cabinets. Getting the bottle down, Natasha poured herself a bit of the amber liquid and sat down at the kitchen table, twirling the glass between her hands before she finally took a sip. It was dark in the kitchen, but she didn’t bother with turning on any of the lights. There was a tight ball of worry and sadness that seemed to be pulling at the very inner workings of her entire being. Something cold and heavy and violently destructive sat inside her chest and seethed like some great monster ready to rise up and destroy her at any moment with not the slightest provocation. And it _hurt._ She wasn’t even aware that the crushing weight had manifested itself as tears until someone’s hand squeezed her shoulder. Natasha looked up, hair falling in her face as she turned to look over her shoulder at the newcomer.

“I almost lost him,” she whispered, voice tremulous and filled with agony.

Phil’s knees cracked as he squatted down beside her, placing a hand on her knee, his face sympathetic. “But you didn’t.”

“But I could have!” Natasha’s desperate cry broke through the barrier of silence in the room, rising above the hum of the appliances, slicing through the air as her turmoil manifested itself in the tone of her voice. “I could have lost him,” she whispered, face wet with tears as Phil wordlessly reached up and tugged her to sit with him on the floor, wrapping his arms around her. “He is… the only person who has ever… he means so much to me and I….”

“I know.” Phil knew she was struggling to find the right combination of words with which to express her complicated feelings. “But it’ll take more than that to get rid of Clint Barton. He’s not going anywhere any time soon, Natasha. He loves you.” Her fingers curled into his shirt as she allowed herself this moment to simply feel.

“I love him too,” the whisper was broken, yet somehow full of vibrancy and strength at the same time.

Phil pushed at her gently, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe her face. “Then go sit with him,” he murmured with a smile as he cupped her cheek, knowing full well that displays of unbridled emotion from Natasha were a rare occurrence only shared with those she truly trusted. “He needs you.”

“Thank you.” Natasha pushed herself up and slipped quietly back into the bedroom, back to stand guard over the man she loved.

Phil pushed himself to his feet and took advantage of the drink she’d left behind, tossing it back. “No sense in wasting good alcohol.” He murmured to himself as he wandered back towards the common floor. It was quiet, with Clint, Bruce, and Bucky asleep. Tony had gone back down to work on some suit modifications and Phil didn’t know where Steve was. “J?” he spoke up. “Do you know where Steve is? I’d like to talk to him while I have the chance to get him alone.”

_He is on his way down with a load of clean dishes, Phil. He should be here shortly._

“Thanks,” Phil absently bit at the corner of a fingernail, before catching himself and tugging his hand out of his mouth. He turned towards the elevator and waited the few moments it took for Steve to arrive, clearing his throat. “Want a hand?”

“Please,” Steve maneuvered around him with the dishes in his arms, and Phil followed into the kitchen.

“Steve,” Phil began softly, setting the bowls inside the cabinet. “I’d um, I’d like to talk to you about something while we’re alone with no chance of being disturbed for a while.”

Steve put the tray back into its drawer and looked Phil in the eyes. He seemed tense. “I… think I now what this is about. JARVIS told me that…” he fidgeted nervously with the hem of his shirt. “He told me what Natasha said. That… you talked about… regression and stuff, together. Just…” he sighed and his shoulders slumped. “S’a personal thing, private, ‘cept for you and her and… might be embarrassing for the others to see. I don’t want…” Steve licked his lips, and Phil gave an encouraging look, knowing it was hard for him to talk about. “Don’t want them to make fun of me or to… think I’m a freak or not take this seriously. I don’t want for the dynamic to change. I like…” he cast his gaze around and sighed frustratedly, shifting on the spot.

“You like having this be something special with you and Bucky, is that it? You don’t want to lose having him be your caretaker, or to change that at all by running the risk that Bucky might want to help take care of someone else?” Phil asked softly, reaching out a hand to lay it on Steve’s arm.

Steve ducked his head and nodded, a fear bubbling to the surface inside his chest. “D-don’t… don’t wanna lose him. N-not… not again.”

“Oh, Steve,” Phil rubbed his arm and crouched a little, looking into his eyes without making him raise his head. “You don’t have to worry about that. I assure you that Bucky is first and foremost your caregiver, and he wouldn’t do anything without consulting you first. The last thing that Natasha and I want to do is cause some sort of rift between you and Bucky concerning something very special to the both of you. We aren’t looking to hurt anyone or to cause any trouble, we just want to know more and to understand better what the benefits of something like this could be for others that are under very similar types of prolonged stress.”

Steve was silent for a moment. “Y-you’re right, I… I’m being stupid, I just… I need to… to talk about it with you and be an adult. He wouldn’t leave me like that, and I know it, just… I… I’m _scared_ , Phil. I have been ever since I got him back that someday he’ll wake up and either not know me or not want me or both or… or not remember that he’s my Daddy and that I think he’s the best Daddy in the whole world…” Steve’s response went from modulated and normal to barely perceptible as he blinked against the moisture in his eyes, unexpected waver in headspace causing his hands to shake.

“You’re not being stupid, and I don’t want to hear you say that about yourself again,” Phil chided softly, squeezing Steve’s hands in his own when they began to shake. “Come here, Steve,” he sighed quietly and pulled him in for a hug. “I don’t think anything in the whole world could make Bucky forget how you feel about him, in either headspace,” Phil murmured. The two of them stood silently for a few moments until Steve had composed himself, Phil pulling back to smile reassuringly. “Now. What say you and I get some tea and go sit by the fire for a while? You can tell me about those paintings you’ve been working on, Tony says you’ve started a series of the Avengers as classical figures?” He smiled to himself as Steve brightened immediately and began to chatter away about the finer points of finessing the oil based paints he was using, and the variations in tone and color and shading he’d done to the first two, and which paintings he planned on doing next. They worked through two mugs of herbal tea each before they heard the elevator open and footsteps sounded in the hallway. It was Bucky, looking better than before but still tired as he appeared in the doorway.

“What’re you two talking about?” He asked curiously, crossing the room and joining Steve where he sat on the floor by the hearth.

Phil cleared his throat softly. “Steve was telling me about those new oil paintings he’s doing, but now that you’re here, I’d like to ask you something.”

“Shoot.” Bucky responded, wrapping one arm around Steve’s shoulders as he leaned into him.

“It’s about age regression.”

Bucky’s brows rose in surprise. “Okay.” He murmured cautiously, a wary look appearing in his eyes as he attempted to calculate whether or not he’d need to defend Steve.

“No no, it’s nothing bad!” Phil clarified, and Bucky relaxed a little. “It’s more of a curiosity, actually. Natasha and I were talking, and she was wondering if you could give us some insider information about the benefits and whether or not you think it would be something that could be good for the team to include themselves in. I’ve seen the psych evals and had some other talks with Bruce, too, and well… stress seems to be a common routine factor in everyone except for Steve. Because you and Steve try to arrange safe times as often as possible, you two are the only ones myself included, that have a normal baseline for stress and anxiety. The others are off the charts and generally don’t get much of a break. We’re worried that without a healthy and non-harmful release, it could cause someone to make a fatal error that could cost a teammate or an innocent hostage their life.”

Bucky hummed softly and pursed his lips in thought. “So. You want them to try it, is what you’re saying? How… I’m just trying to work through this in my head, here, hang on. What… ages and… who would be in charge I guess are the first questions I have,” he started thoughtfully. “I mean, it wouldn’t change for me and Stevie, right?”

“No, not for you and Steve except that you might have someone he can finally be social with,” Phil conceded. “and others that you’d have to occasionally help keep an eye on, but I don’t really think anyone would be as young as Steve. Clint is maybe the only one I could see being younger, and even for him I’d put him at maybe elementary age at the youngest. Natasha would be older if she decided to try at all, and Bruce and Tony are anybody’s guess, though judging by their mischievous streak they’d be teenagers at least.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, I can see them tearing up the lab together and trying to sneak booze or something. Clint, I’d probably say maybe… eight to ten? At the youngest? Natasha would never stoop so low as to allow herself to be completely dependent on anyone like that, no. Plus she loves helping take care of Steve when he’s in headspace. She’d want to be old enough to dress and bathe and eat for herself, and to help take care of the baby, though that isn’t exactly how headspace works. It isn’t about what you want, it’s about what you need. Usually it fluctuates a little bit until someone finds the right age range for them and then it solidifies. Steve started out at about five and then it just went lower until he settled where he is now. It’s all about finding the right age range to cope well and to heal, so that all those things that bother you when you’re an adult or cause you endless amounts of anxiety sort of fade away. Then you have time to mentally recover as well as someone there physically to watch over you and make sure you take healthy care of your body again until you’re ready or able to age back up and take over again.”

Steve had maintained his silence, more than glad that he now had Bucky as a buffer to help him navigate the conversation. He’d just been so worried the entire time the team was gone that he hadn’t truly let himself relax until Bucky walked back in and sat down beside him. Tuning himself back in, he was surprised to hear the last of Bucky’s statement. “You uh,” he cleared his throat. “You understand more than I thought you did about this,” Steve crooked his neck up to get a better look at Bucky.

Bucky gave a crooked smile. “Hey, I’ve been learning for a long time, I’m bound to pick up some of it, aren’t I? Even if it’s pretty complicated stuff, you gotta gimme a little credit here, kid.”

“I-“ Steve stuttered. “I-I just thought that… my explanations have never been… it’s more complicated than people think and…”

“Steve?” Bucky asked.

“What?”

“Shut up. I got your back on this, right? So stop trying to explain to me what I mostly understand. Okay?” he gave a gentle smile.

Steve gave a tentative smile in return. “Okay, Buck.”

“Good.” Bucky shifted so his arms were wrapped around Steve’s chest, giving more contact to help calm him down. His gaze flicked back over to Phil. “So. How do you want to play this?”

Phil took a sip of his tea and shifted a little more, to get comfortable in the armchair. “I think we should speak a little with Natasha first, but given what you and Steve have volunteered, I think it’s doable. There might be some kickback, but we won’t force anyone. Just volunteer the information and maybe if Steve is game introduce them to Stevie so they can see how it works?”

Steve’s hands came up to grip at Bucky’s arms to steady himself, nibbling his lip nervously. “I-I guess, if you think it’d help… but I can’t do it around them. They’re not safe like Bucky and Natasha and you. I, that is, _he_ doesn’t trust them. There’s got to be some time first, to get thoroughly into headspace before I can go meet them. But,” he took a deep breath at the same time Bucky did, taking the cue to calm down. “I will if it’s going to help.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Phil spoke up softly, with a reassuring smile once Steve met his gaze. “That’s very kind of you to help out like that. I know it isn’t easy for you to meet new people when you’re Little. But Natasha and Bucky and I will all be there with you, so you won’t have to worry about anything.”

Bucky hummed his agreement. “It’ll be alright, runt. Trust us on this one. If Nat wants to ask the rest of the team about it, then we’re gonna support her on it.”


End file.
